


another one of those mornings

by halcyonskies



Series: OTP Challenge [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Does Not Understand, Grumpy Castiel, Long-Suffering Dean Winchester, M/M, Nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 01:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7145699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyonskies/pseuds/halcyonskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's not much that can really phase him, at this point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	another one of those mornings

**Author's Note:**

> 10th Challenge - Quirk
> 
> sorry, it's a little late
> 
> <3

Cas’ fingernails were an eye-searing shade of pink when he walked out of their bedroom one morning. Dean, still blinking a thirteen-hour crash session’s worth of sleep from his eyes, didn’t really notice until they were sitting across from one another at the kitchen table. With his fingers wrapped around a slate gray mug, there was no way Dean could miss the way Cas’ nails popped against the ceramic. 

“So,” he began, diplomatic. “There something you wanna share with the class?”

Blue eyes narrowed at Dean over the steaming mug braced against Cas’ lips. It was an expression Dean had become well-acquainted with since Cas had Fallen, one that questioned the intelligence of anyone attempting to coax Cas into conversation before he’d had at least one full cup of coffee. Normally Dean wouldn’t even have tried, but –  _ pink.  _

Eventually Cas acquiesced to his expectant stare with a put-upon sigh. “What do you mean?”

Dean waggled his fingers in front of him. For a moment Cas just looked exasperated, confused as to Dean’s point, and then it seemed to click. He spread his own fingers over the tabletop, looking down at the brightly painted nails. 

“I did this last night.”

Dean frowned. It couldn't reflect very well on him that they shared a room, laid down beside each other every night, and he didn't recall anything of the sort. 

“I definitely don’t remember that.”

Cas rolled his eyes, taking another pull from his mug. “You were sleeping.  _ Very  _ deeply. I don’t think you even said two words to me once your head hit the pillow.”

“Yeah, well. It was a shitty hunt.” Dean pressed a thumb into his temple, trying to rub away the ache that was returning full force now that he was properly awake. “Doesn’t matter now. Why’d you do it?”

Cas shrugged. “I was curious.”

There was little else Dean could do but accept that explanation, simple as it was. Reminding Cas that there were certain things certain humans just didn’t do – namely, men painting their nails Tickle-Me-Pink – wouldn’t do any good. Aside from being new to humanity, Cas didn’t really put a lot of stock into social norms he didn’t understand. Besides, this whole thing was so  _ Cas  _ in nature that Dean couldn’t really find it in him to be offended. 

“Where’d you even get nail polish?”

“I found it in your bag.”

Dean thought about that, cup poised just out of mouth’s reach. “Where the hell did  _ I  _ get nail polish?”

“Probably from that little girl we talked to in Farmington a couple months ago. You know, the dual-haunting?” Cas frowned severely at him, pointing an accusing finger. “You should clean out your duffels more often, by the way.”

Dean didn’t even bother responding to that, trying to remember what Cas was talking about.  _ Very  _ vaguely did he remember that job; actually, that whole incident with the girl was more memorable than the actual hunt. He’d been trying to gauge whether she knew anything useful while Cas chatted up the father, and before he’d even realized what was happening he’d been getting his own nails painted while the girl pointed out matter-of-factly that pink was  _ just  _ his color. 

He must have palmed the little jar of polish without realizing it. How he hadn’t noticed it in his own damn bag, however, remained a mystery. 

When Dean looked up, Cas had gone back to examining his nails. 

“I don’t know if I like it, really.”

“What, the color?”

“Not the color so much as the entire process. I couldn’t quite get the brush centered, and then it took an unreasonable amount of time to dry. And it smells awful.”

Shaking his head fondly, Dean rose from the bench, though not before patting Cas consolingly on the hand. “That’s just too bad, sweetheart. A real cryin’ shame.”

“Dean, are you being facetious again?”

Dean just chuckled his way to the coffee pot, reminding himself to pick up a bottle of nail polish remover on his next trip to the drugstore. 

 


End file.
